THERAPY SESSION

thirty-nine » p a i n o f l o s i n g

i didn't think someone would notice, at all. because to be fair, invisibility was always written in giant letters on my forehead, a silent sign to abandon my existence. but losing something would always draw the attention, attention from these prominent people begging to fill up the hole losing something created in me.

»did you lose weight?«
»no.«
afterwards i squeezed my eyes to pray noone would've noticed. keeping my eyes empty. six. six kilogrammes and eight-hundred grammes since january, and i wasn't planning to stop anytime soon. hard work made reaching the goal seem sweeter.

there was nothing that could make me stop, because after all, noone cared. they just pretended they did.

throwing the heavy metallic ball the next day sent sharp pains down my wrists, three kilogrammes. keeping the second ball grounded in my hands, i anxiously waited. five metres. i had scored seven metres last year. tears brimming at the corners of my eyes, i swallowed. weak. failure. you should've done more push-ups yesterday. but face pale and fading, i sat down, gaze buried on the stubbly grass on the field in front of me. words of sport teachers and prominent people blurred.

failure. everything i did was bound to break, everything i began ruined so effortlessly. happiness wasn't something i deserved.

how many calories did chocolate have? the kind of chocolate with red berries and almond taste. too much, anyways. after all, i ruined everything that was once created. out of control.

guilt pained my stomach, and i wished for this weight in my stomach to vanish, to vomit out of my system, leave the way i swallowed it down. but fear struck these cells in my brain, and i remained laying down in these sheets drained with salty tears and cold sweats from the nightmares i couldn't stop. couldn't stop controlling, like everything i once had control over.

i couldn't stay here any longer. blue mat on the carpet floor, the familiar smell i couldn't describe finding its way into my nose. the video of the overly motivated, prominent woman blaring loudly from the speakers, generic pop music filling the room in a poor attempt to make it all better. to minimise the pain of losing.

and sharp breaths, thumping beats of my heart, accelerated motions and my focus on the jiggling of my stomach. on the wiggling of my legs, the up and down dancing of skin, no, fat. too much fat. mustering all that's left of this strength underneath the masses hiding my muscles, i did one more. and one more. and one more after that, again.

»good job!« she said. i nodded, and shook my head. i was a failure. i didn't do a good job. one more.

panting, i needed more panting, less breath and more heartbeat. maybe that would keep me alive.

faster, faster, GO FASTER. go faster and do more, more calories burned. how many calories did i burn already? did the bump on my stomach fade already? did i die already?

where was sixty-one?

black around me, dark.

where was sixty-one?

i couldn't even control my conscience.